At this morning’s forty-five-minute-wait-five-minute-appointment trip to the OB, I got a tentative date for Bunlet’s removal.
I know. Less than a month. What the HELL. How can that BE? But it can. It IS. I’m happy that it’s as close as possible to my actual due date (August 25th). I get really overwhelmed with Some Kind of Emotion That Involves Tears when I think about it.
Pregnancy as a Pseudo Fertile Whore has been interesting. A what? Let me explain.
Unlike many of you, I thought of myself as parenting after infertility during the seven months between Bun Bun’s birth and Bunlet’s conception. It’s because of my circumstances: Despite my innate pessimism, I knew that I had a decent shot at conceiving a second child without intervention. There was before, when I was full of meatballs and infertile, and after, when I was Presumed Fecund. But I wasn’t a Fertile Whore. To be a Fertile Whore, you have to have no concept that a positive pregnancy test might be hard to achieve, and no doubt that you’ll be bringing home a baby nine months after seeing one. That woman at the baby place I go–it’s like a community organization that has drop in hours for caregivers and kids and lots of good non-noise-making toys and a lot of air conditioning–with the (like, four year old?) quadruplets, the eighteen month old, and the six-months-pregnant belly…that’s a Fertile Whore. (Except…with quads you always have to wonder whether it was IVF, so maybe this is a really bad example, but whatevs.) I expected to experience a lot of fear and sadness and impatience and frustration, a lot of reminders of the past, when I got around to trying for a second child. And then…oops. There’s nothing like an oops to make you wonder if maybe you actually belong in the Fertile Whore category. Naturally, I resisted this. Who wants to be a Fertile Whore?
So, anyone who asked the most casual of questions got a response that involved me explaining I HAD A HARD TIME GETTING PREGNANT THE FIRST TIME AND EVEN THOUGH THE SECOND TIME IT WAS NOT EVEN PLANNED, I AM STILL SUPER SPECIAL AND NOT A FERTILE WHORE LIKE YOU PROBABLY ASSUME I AM…BUT I AM NOT. Needless to say, this is not a line of reasoning the average casual questioner has any hope of following. I got a lot of responses along the lines of, oh yeah, I hear that happens all the time–people can’t get pregnant and then when they do pregnancy like fixes their hormones or whatever and they have no problem the second time. And of course I would get all huffy and explain that it totally depends on what the issue was in the first place and blah blah blah…
I wanted to disabuse people of the ridiculous notion that this happens all the time.
But then, in the small collection of weblogs I read, unexpected second pregnancies began popping up like mushrooms after a rain. Pregnancies that ranged from as reasonable as mine to Utterly Miraculous. Some of them have already come to a heartbreaking end, which is just so shitty, but some are well advanced, some have even led to Actual Hoarding of LIVE BABIES.
I’m finding that having a little company in the world of baby hoarding has led to a shift in my feelings again. I feel less guilty, for one thing. Although still plenty guilty. I’m too painfully aware of how fucked up it is that some women who have been along for my journey are still fighting for parenthood. Others are facing tough odds in the quest for a second… BUT, in about four weeks I will be parenting after parenting after infertility. Parenting after an unplanned pregnancy that passed with very few moments of total terror. See, I said I WILL, and I’m not even adding any caveats about please let Bunlet not be stillborn…oh my god please let Bunlet not be stillborn. *Panics briefly*
So I need a new label. Parenting as a Pseudo Fertile Whore. Some of the optimism and carefree happiness of a true Fertile Whore, some of the faint scars of the true Infertile.